


Loss - Dragon Age Oneshot

by Aneth_Stripes



Series: Dragon Age - Fractured Timelines [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Other, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:41:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25706059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aneth_Stripes/pseuds/Aneth_Stripes
Summary: Andraste forgive her for taking the life of a friend. Maker forgive her for not finding another way.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age)
Series: Dragon Age - Fractured Timelines [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1917967
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	Loss - Dragon Age Oneshot

She didn't touch the loot on his body. It felt... _wrong_. So incredibly wrong. How she managed to walk away without a word worried her friends but what could she have possibly said?

There was nothing to say. Zevran was dead. Her blade, still dripping red and smelling heavy of iron, had been the one to tear through his chest as she delivered the final blow. She didn't want to, Andraste help her, but what other choice did she have? He made his bed. These thoughts quelled the rising bile none as she turned the corner swiftly, holding up a hand as she retched onto the dirty ground. Her party waited, silent, concerned.

The Cousland wiped her mouth, grimacing at the taste her lunch had left in her mouth. She blinked her eyes, willing them to keep it in, at least until they made it back to camp. 

Wynne placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. "Perhaps...we should retire to camp for now." The mage then hesitated, unsure of what next to say. This didn't surprise the woman; how could anyone comfort someone mourning the loss of someone she thought she could trust? It stung harder than anything the Darkspawn could possibly do to her, harder than any fool trying to grate on her nerves because she was a Grey Warden. 

The woman mutely nodded, turning and nudging her shoulder out of the mage's hand, trudging her way back to their camp in silence. She had taken Sten and Alistair with her as well, so she wasn't surprised to find the rest of the band glancing at her in concern and surprise that she was back so soon. She couldn't face any of them, keeping her trap shut as she dropped her knapsack and ignored all of them for a dip at the edge of a river. 

His blood was still on her body, stained her hands and face. She wanted it off, all but hyperventilating as her fingers grasped to tear off her armor as the river caught her eyesight. She let it all plop onto the floor, kicking her boots off and letting down her hair, not bothering to shed the shirt or pants she wore enable to be rid of his undoing from her entirely.

The frosty water hit her body like a shockwave but her usual care wasn't anywhere to be found as her head sunk underwater. All she could see, all she could hear, was Zevran.

He wanted...Maker's Breath, what did he want? Freedom? A new home? Death? Maybe he had tricked her the entire time, maybe he never gave two Hells about her, about any of them. She didn’t know and he wasn’t there to answer...because of her. 

The Grey Warden hadn’t noticed that she’d run out of breath until her chest started to burn. She rose and coughed, flailing her arms about and reaching the edge of the water as she took deep breaths. Her body shook as she sobbed, bowing her head as her arms trembled wildly. 

Of all the loss she expected...not this...not Zevran…

Her face would’ve hit the ground as her arms caved; instead, she felt the arms of her lover wrapping around her, holding her close. Through her muddled eyesight, she saw Alistair staring down at her in worry, tenderly if not awkwardly stroking the back of her head. “Are you alright?” 

Water flickered onto her face as her head shook, arms grasping him as if it were life or death. “I killed him...Al, I killed him.” She felt like throwing up all over again as she choked on her own tears. 

“I know,” he muttered, kissing her sopping forehead with a gentleness that barely soothed her pain. “It isn’t your fault, love. I don’t think we would have ever reached him.” 

She shook her head, refusing to believe him. “I-I didn’t try hard enough. It’s my fault.” 

“You couldn’t have known.” 

“I should’ve!” Tears spilled from her eyes again as she sobbed, crumbling into Alistair’s firm posture. He held her quietly, knowing that he had no words to ease her pain. This job, what they had to do, it wasn’t easy. Death is to be expected. He never figured she would collapse, not after she held it together after her own family was murdered. 

Perhaps...perhaps this was the straw that broke her back. “I’ve got you,” he muttered, allowing her drenched form to lean and shake against him. Her cries grew louder as he clung to her, refusing to let her go when she needed him the most. 

Her friends had eventually noticed her extended absence, and one at a time they came, with all but Wynne having difficulty comforting someone they’d seen as so strong and determined. She paid them no attention, struggling not to snap as her cries lessened. Maker’s Breath, she was incredibly exhausted. 

The Cousland had to keep it together, she knew she did, but right now she couldn’t contain it. DId Zevran really think he had no choice? He did and she tried to show him as much...perhaps she didn’t do enough. It didn’t matter now. She reeked of her sin and her hands shook. She wanted to push Alistair away but found him to be the only thing keeping her together when she was ready to collapse. 

“I’m sorry,” she muttered brokenly, clinging to the blanket Leilana had brought to her. “I suppose...I really can’t save everyone, can I?” 

What could he have said to that? Agree with her? He swore quietly and held her tighter, grateful that he removed his armor prior. She needed a warm embrace after her dip in the water, but even in his arms, she was colder than she’d ever remembered feeling before. She had to get it together; her journey was far from over, but the memory of his lifeless form hit her over and over and over again. 

Why couldn’t have someone else kill him? Why did he have to come after her first? She choked on a sob, painfully recalling how he looked at her with determined, sad eyes. Did he really believe he didn’t have a choice? Did he not believe in her? 

Alistair wiped her tears tenderly, shushing her gently and rubbing her hunched back with his free hand. They stayed like this for Maker knew how long. Her body finally shook from her drenched clothes as she stood up, unable to look in her lover’s eyes as she forced one foot in front of the other. 

Did… Did Zevran really want her to kill him? Amber eyes flickered over to her in the place he once stood, almost mocking her as the illusion of him stood there but a moment. But she knew...she knew he was gone. 

She was led back to her tent, her companion’s fingers tracing over her upper spine before patting her back gently. “I’ll be waiting out here,” Alistair spoke quietly, closing her tent for her. She changed quickly, wanting to forget about what happened and burn her clothes once they dried enough. She never wanted to see them again, determined to burn the memory from her head so she could keep moving. 

This plan was quickly swept away when she stepped outside, pausing to glance at Leliana in confusion. The redhead smiled sadly, taking a step back to give the Grey Warden space. “I apologize, I know you must want to be alone right now but…” The rogue slipped her hand in her pocket before pulling out something wrapped and secured. “I know how you and Zevran respected each other and, well, perhaps these would best be held in your hands instead of another’s.” 

Confused, she took the small bundle from Leliana and unwrapped it carefully, eyebrow raised in confusion. She then stopped, tensing up as she tried not to fall apart before her friend. Her eyes took notice of the leather thumb before anything else and knew all at once what was given to her. 

“Thank you,” she croaked, holding the pair of Dalish gloves to her chest. It hurt more than she was willing to admit. She wanted to gift him these but knew not where to find them. How cruel the world was to have them in her scarred palms now... It would’ve made Zevran laugh at the horrible irony. 

“There is more,” Leliana spoke quietly, wringing her hands together nervously. “Once word was sent to us of...of Zevran’s departure, Morrigan and I recovered the body. If you so wish, we could give him a proper burial.” 

It was all she could give Zev, wasn’t it? The Cousland took a deep breath and finally faced her friend, forcing a smile on her face. “Thank you, Leliana. Perhaps once we rest?” That was a lie; she wanted to burn his body now; shame and anger consumed her. Was she so desperate to get rid of her sin that she would rush his funeral before anyone was ready? Before she was?

Granted, she didn’t want the body to rot, but deep down the woman knew that she simply did not want to face what she had to do...even if it was her life against his. 

“Perhaps,” she repeated, smiling kindly, “but with how heavy things are becoming in Denerim and how we are about to cross to Ozammar, maybe we should prepare a proper sendoff for him as soon as possible.” 

No no no no no no she couldn’t do this! “Sure,” she replied, ignoring her screaming, conflicted thoughts. They hadn’t very long until they had to move out again and a second couldn’t be spared, not with the Darkspawn ever-moving. She didn’t sound convincing but Leliana didn’t question this, placing her hand gently on the Grey Warden’s shoulder. 

“I am truly sorry,” she muttered quietly, pulling tears from the poor thing without intending to. She flinched and pulled her hand away, leaving the woman to grip the gloves harshly as she joined Morrigan and Alistair to create a funeral pyre not too far away from camp. She stood there for the longest time, thumb meekly caressing the soft fabric that kept the Elven-made gloves safe and fresh.

She’d keep these gloves with her until the end, she decided, even as Alistair had comforted her as he led her to Zevran’s final resting place. She couldn’t hear the words that spewed out of Wynne’s mouth, something about passing through and meeting Andraste or whomever god he might have believed in. She could feel eyes on her; intent, sad, pitiful glances that she could not will herself to meet. 

All she could truly do was watch as her friend’s body burned, wisps of blond hair singeing into nothing. Somehow, despite dying, despite turning his back, he still had a smile on his face even as his body peeled away to ash. 

The journey ahead would be harder than ever before, she knew. Maybe one night, she would wake up and forgive herself for killing him, forgive herself for being selfish, and holding onto the gloves instead of letting them rightfully burn with him. She refused to let go of what was left of him. She-she would carry his remains into battle, carry the memory of the cheeky elf for as long as she could. Could he forgive her? Did he already? 

Her heart split in two as she gripped the gloves tightly, begging, pleading silently and with fervor as the pyre collapsed and sent a burst of flames and dust high into the air. _‘Please...please forgive me.’_

Zevran the Rogue...her comrade...her friend. Maker, _what had she done_?

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't satisfied with how we'd just...left Zevran there. After all we'd been through, he deserved a proper sendoff. I'm sorry I didn't try harder buddy. Maker have you, you sly knucklehead.


End file.
